


Woe & Wisdom

by extasiswings



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, The Great Garcy Austen Adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 05:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10893105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: Dear Henry,...My life has not been empty. Many years ago someone told me I would be a great authoress, and I took her at her word. It is true that I have often been lonely, but if the choice had been between the life I led and a different one, even perhaps a happier one, I do not think I could have chosen otherwise. I have loved and been loved, felt loss and also great joy. I brought worlds into being with my pen.I have lived.You must forgive me, brother. The hour is late and my eyes grow heavy. I may write again to clarify the musings of my scattered mind, but for now, please accept the enclosed parcel with my love.It is a manuscript. My first, in fact, although I kept it to myself these many years for reasons I have neither the time nor the inclination to share at present. Do with it what you will.All my love,Jane





	Woe & Wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> A couple months ago I received a prompt for Lucy/Flynn/Time Team meeting Jane Austen and it spiraled into this. Many of the "letters" from Jane are things that I wrote, but I did toss in a couple of lines from real letters that Jane wrote to her sister.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

_16 July, 1817_

_Dear Henry,_

_I have struggled for weeks with my conscience over whether to write this letter, as I have struggled for many years over whether I should have kept the enclosed package at all. For my own sake, I will excuse my actions in writing it out of authorial necessity as I feel I hardly could have written anything else until this story was out of my head and on the page where it belonged._

_My dearest brother, I am sending this now because I fear that my time on this earth may soon be at an end. I must confess that I feel unprepared. I am not ready—there are still so many stories swirling in my thoughts that have not yet been told._

_And yet…_

_My life has not been empty. Many years ago someone told me I would be a great authoress, and I took her at her word. It is true that I have often been lonely, but if the choice had been between the life I led and a different one, even perhaps a happier one, I do not think I could have chosen otherwise. I have loved and been loved, felt loss and also great joy. I brought worlds into being with my pen._

_I have lived._

_You must forgive me, brother. The hour is late and my eyes grow heavy. I may write again to clarify the musings of my scattered mind, but for now, please accept the enclosed parcel with my love._

_It is a manuscript. My first, in fact, although I kept it to myself these many years for reasons I have neither the time nor the inclination to share at present. Do with it what you will._

_All my love,_

_Jane_

* * *

"Hey, guys?" Rufus calls from inside the Lifeboat. "Rittenhouse just sent out the Mothership again. But...I don't know, this one seems kind of weird."

"Where is it?" Wyatt asks, climbing in after him to look at the map himself. 

"Southeast England? December, 1795," Rufus replies. "But I'm not sure what's even there—"

"Steventon, Hampshire," Lucy interjects, alarm bells ringing in her head. "1795, Southeast England? I'd bet almost anything they're looking for—"

"Jane Austen," Flynn finishes. When she blinks at him in surprise, he shrugs. "You're not the only one who knows things, Lucy."

She knows that. She's very well aware that Flynn managed just fine navigating history on his own without her before he somewhat reluctantly joined their team. It's just that...well, of all the things to know...

She supposes she should really stop being surprised by him. 

"Okay, so, Jane Austen," Rufus says, turning in his seat to look at them. "What's so important about December, 1795?

"Do you want to take this one, Flynn?" Lucy offers. 

"Ladies first."

She almost rolls her eyes. 

"Tom Lefroy was an Irishman who visited Steventon from December 1795 through January 1796," she explains. "He and Austen were close. From some of her letters it's arguable that they were in love. He might have even asked her to marry him, but neither of them had money and his family didn't approve."

"So Rittenhouse is trying to...what? Help them get married?" Wyatt asks, clearly dubious about the prospect. 

"Austen hadn't written any of her major works at that point," Flynn points out. "If she had run off with Lefroy, who knows if she ever would have."

“Not to mention, Lefroy went on to become the Lord Chief Justice of Ireland,” Lucy adds. “Two birds, one stone.”

“What does Rittenhouse have against classic literature?” Wyatt grumbles.

“I think it’s more of a problem with independent women, but you never know,” Rufus replies. “Maybe they just really hate Pride and Prejudice.”

“Well, whatever the reason, we may have to be there the whole time,” Lucy says. “Just in case.”

“Two months in the late 18th century?” Rufus clarifies. “Sounds...super fun. Should be a blast.”

All of them wince.

Rufus sighs. “The things I do for history…”

* * *

_My dearest Cassandra,_

_It is the natural course of things that as soon as you should leave me, the universe saw fit to gift me with a new companion. Miss Lucy Cahill is a most charming and elegant woman of skilled mind and discerning taste and I expect we shall be fast friends. She and her distant cousin, Mr. Wyatt Logan, and his friends Captain Flynn and Mr. Carlin have taken lodgings at the edge of Steventon and their appearance could not have come at a more opportune moment. I am sure I will have more to impart as our acquaintance grows._

_Continuing from my most recent correspondence, I am almost afraid to tell you how my Irish friend and I behaved. Imagine to yourself everything most profligate and shocking in the way of dancing and sitting down together…_

* * *

“Okay, I’ll admit, 1795 isn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Rufus says. “Not saying it’s good. But it’s manageable.”

It’s been two weeks since they arrived in the past and Wyatt is more than ready to leave. To the surprise of no one, Lucy made friends with Jane Austen almost immediately and has been spending most of her time with the young authoress. Flynn, unsurprisingly given how he’s been ever since they broke him out of prison, spends as much of his time as possible avoiding the lot of them. In this case, that tends to equate with spending a lot of time looking after the horses.

Somewhat surprisingly though, he has managed to be less unbearable than usual when he does bother showing his face. For all that they’re still trying to prevent history from changing, there seems to be less of a weight on his shoulders than they’ve all come to expect. 

“You know, I hate to admit it,” Rufus says after Flynn disappears outside again after dinner. “But Flynn...is not terrible.” 

Wyatt snorts. “And what a ringing endorsement that is. ‘Not terrible.’”

“Hey, the guy did get me shot, I haven’t forgotten about that, but you can’t deny he has some hidden depths. I mean, Austen? Horses? What’s next, poetry?”

“Yeah, I’d rather not think about his “hidden depths” really.”

Rufus glances out the window and catches sight of Lucy approaching the stable doors. Flynn’s back is to her, rigid at first, but as Rufus watches her greet him, Flynn softens immediately. “Well, Lucy certainly is,” he acknowledges with a nod to the window. 

A pained look flickers across Wyatt’s face as he notices the scene outside. Rufus wonders if he knows what he looks like, or whether Lucy and Flynn know how they appear to outsiders. There’s something intimate in their postures, just slightly too close, leaning towards one another like flowers seeking the sun. But then, she’s always had a way of drawing that out of Flynn.

Rufus doesn’t say anything to Wyatt though—if he doesn’t already know how he feels about Lucy, there’s no point in pushing it, especially when she seems so inexplicably drawn to Flynn. Instead, he claps his friend on the shoulder and turns away from the window.

“Come on, I bet I can kick your ass at darts.”

“As if.”

* * *

_My darling Jane,_

_You cannot know how it gladdens me to hear of your new companions. You must know that I miss you terribly, but it was my dearest hope that you would form new acquaintances in my absence. I look forward to hearing more about them in your next letter…_

 

_My dearest Cassandra,_

_We are having another ball! And what’s even more exciting, I convinced Miss Cahill that she simply must attend. She was reluctant at first, but I assured her that the families in this area are all highly agreeable and are certain to be most welcoming. I suspect Captain Flynn and Mr. Logan will also be in attendance, as well as my Irish friend, although I am uncertain whether Mr. Carlin will come along as well._

_As it is, preparations are going smoothly and we hope to be well on our way by the end of the week..._

 

It takes Lucy until the moment she steps through the door on Wyatt’s arm the day of the ball to realize her biggest mistake.

_A ball. A dance. In 1795._

_Oh God._

“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispers to Wyatt as he leads her further into the room.

Wyatt almost trips and looks at her with alarm. “What? But...you’re the historian.”

“Being a historian doesn’t make me an expert in all forms of historical dance practice,” Lucy hisses. 

Behind them, Flynn coughs to cover a laugh. 

“Well, I hope you learn pretty quick because I think you’re about to get asked,” Wyatt replies as Henry Austen approaches their party. 

“Miss Cahill,” he greets. “Would you do me the honor?”

Lucy stalls, her eyes flicking to the groups of couples across the room, as she tries to stay cool. “I—”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Austen, Miss Cahill has already promised her first dance to me,” Flynn covers smoothly. 

His hand settles on her lower back for the briefest moment and his eyes meet hers, a silent trust me echoing in their depths. 

“Ah—yes,” Lucy acknowledges. “My apologies, Mr. Austen. I did indeed promise the first dance to Captain Flynn.”

“Ah, well,” Henry sighs. “Perhaps later then.”

“Perhaps,” Lucy replies. Or, perhaps not. 

“You know how to do this?” She asks Flynn as soon as Henry is out of earshot and he’s leading her over to the other side of the room.

“No,” Flynn shrugs. “But it can’t be that difficult. It’s just dancing.”

Lucy stops in her tracks and stares at him, wondering if it would draw too much attention if she punched him in the arm. 

“Are you kidding me?” 

The look in Flynn’s eyes says that he’s having far too much fun with this. “It wouldn’t do for a woman of your status and...age...to not know how to dance. I can at least make it seem like it’s my fault.”

“...did you just call me old?” Lucy asks incredulously. She’s absolutely re-evaluating whether she cares if hitting him would draw attention or not.

“For this era,” he corrects himself, his lips twitching with a smile that either he can’t contain or isn’t trying to. “And I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

“You’re an ass,” she points out.

“And yet, you’re going to dance with me anyway.” 

“I will, but only because we already told Henry Austen I was going to,” Lucy replies. “And I won’t enjoy it.”

Flynn hums quietly. “Are you sure about that?”

She narrows her eyes. “Fairly sure, yes.”

“And if you’re wrong? What do I get if you do enjoy dancing with me?”

“The joy of knowing I was wrong.”

He laughs. She tries not to think about how much lighter, freer, it makes him look. He has a rather nice smile actually, when he’s being genuine about it.

“Fair enough.”

When they reach the other couples and hear the first strains of music, he extends a hand and raises an eyebrow. “Well, Miss Cahill? Shall we?”

Lucy presses her lips together to keep them from twitching and takes the outstretched hand. 

(She dances with him three times and almost a fourth before she realizes the whispers that would cause and excuses herself. She doesn’t tell him he was right—she did enjoy herself, almost too much. She’s fairly certain he knows anyway)

* * *

_My dearest Cassandra,_

_Today I went for a walk with my new friends, although I will confess we did not stay all together long. Captain Flynn and Miss Cahill were conversing most intently and managed to fall so far behind the rest of our party that I worried they may have gotten lost. For my own part, Mr. Logan and Mr. Carlin were both highly engaging, sharing stories of time spent in America. But I must confess that I was somewhat preoccupied with thoughts of Miss Cahill and the good Captain, especially since she later rejoined our party alone. There is something rather fascinating about their interactions. From what I can glean, there is nothing untoward about their relationship, but when she is around, his eyes are rarely far from her…_

For the record, it’s not as though Lucy sets out to spend almost all her time not spent with Jane with Flynn. And yet, somehow that seems to be what happens whether she means it to or not. At least this time, it’s nothing but accidental on her end. She’d gotten distracted by the lovely scenery around them and had ended up hanging back with Flynn, walking slower than everyone else. And since they were de facto walking partners, it would have been rude not to start a conversation. Or something like that.

(Mostly she’s been curious since the beginning about his knowledge of Austen novels and she wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to ask)

“So...Austen?” Lucy asks, once they’re far enough behind that it seems safe enough to talk about Jane’s future works.

Flynn shoots her a bemused look at the open-ended question, but doesn’t brush it off either. 

“My mother and I used to read the books together,” he explains. “When I was young, before I could really read them myself she would read them to me. And then after, well, it was a bit of a tradition between the two of us by then. As I got older...well, they’re good books.”

“Which one is your favorite?”

"My mother had a fondness for Mansfield Park," Flynn replies, but she reads between the lines. 

"Not you though?"

A low-hanging branch creaks as he lifts it for her, and his fingers catch thoughtfully at a stray leaf when it drops again. 

"I thought Edmund was an idiot," he elaborates. "Spending all his time chasing after Mary Crawford when Fanny was there from the beginning. Would have served him right if she had turned him down in the end."

"Probably," Lucy admits. "But if the point is to give your heroine a happy ending regardless of what her love interest deserves, I'd imagine marriage is your go-to plot resolution in the early 19th century."

“You still haven’t answered my question though.”

"Which one is my favorite?" Flynn considers it for a moment, then puts it to her instead. "Which is yours?"

"I asked first," Lucy points out. 

"And I'll tell you...after you say yours."

For a moment she wonders whether shoving him in the creek they're wandering beside would be worth the explanation later—or worth the risk of him pulling her in with him—but instead she merely rolls her eyes. 

"Pride and Prejudice."

Flynn's lips twitch and Lucy raises a brow, daring him to laugh. 

"Always wanted to be Elizabeth Bennet, did you?” He teases. “I never would have guessed."

“Shut up.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” he insists. “She’s an excellent character. Strong, fierce, witty...there are worse things to be.”

Strangely enough, Lucy almost thinks there might have been a compliment somewhere in there. But it’s Flynn, so she’ll probably never know. 

“I suppose a young Garcia Flynn never pretended to be Mr. Darcy. Awfully far from being a cowboy.”

“I wouldn’t say never, but not often, no.”

“Are you done avoiding the question now?”

Flynn turns another leaf over between his fingers and looks away. “It used to be Pride and Prejudice as well,” he acknowledges. 

“Used to be?” Lucy asks. 

“When I was a child,” he clarifies. “But once I started getting older, I found myself drawn more and more to Persuasion. It’s been my favorite Austen since I was a young man.”

It’s...unexpected. It shouldn’t be, perhaps, considering that he’d already ruled out Mansfield Park and she would have been even more surprised if he’d named Emma or Sense and Sensibility, but she’s somewhat thrown nonetheless.

“Why Persuasion?”

“It’s…” For the first time, Flynn looks slightly uncomfortable, his gaze drifting away from hers. “It’s about forgiveness. About...admitting you were wrong and moving on, moving past it. Anne and Wentworth, they—they both made mistakes, both did things that could have been unforgivable. And yet they still ended up together.”

“Because Wentworth forgave her,” Lucy fills in, but Flynn shakes his head.

“Not just him,” he corrects. “She didn’t have to let him back in either, especially considering how he acted after his return. But she did.”

“Of course she did,” Lucy says, suddenly feeling as though the ground between her isn’t quite as steady as it was before. “She never wanted to betray him in the first place. She never wanted to hurt him.”

Flynn looks off into the distance, through the trees, and wets his lips. “Anyway,” he continues after a moment. “I always wished that I could have that capacity for forgiveness. Not that I’ve been very good at it in practice, but...that’s why it’s my favorite. It’s...something to strive for.”

_Do you still believe that_ , she wants to ask. _Could it apply to us?_

(She doesn’t want to read too much into anything he says, but she desperately wants him to be saying what she thinks he is)

But she doesn’t ask. Instead, Lucy clears her throat and searches her mind for a less dangerous question.

“What about your father? Was he an Austen fan as well?”

The words have hardly left her when she realizes that she’s inadvertently stumbled into something she shouldn’t have. Flynn’s face goes abruptly blank, all of the warmth that had been there previously vanishing behind a smooth mask.

“No,” he replies evenly. “No, he wasn’t.”

It’s a simple statement of fact, but his reaction tells her there’s much more behind it than that. Something that could make him shut down so quickly...well, that has to be anything but simple.

“Flynn—Garcia—”

“We should get back to the others,” he says, not looking at her. “They’re likely wondering where we are.”

Flynn turns and starts back the direction they came without another word and Lucy debates pressing before deciding to leave it be for the moment. One day, perhaps. One day, he might actually open up to her instead of closing down as soon as she gets close to anything.

(He’d done it before, back at Castle Varlar, again in 1780, in 1954...but those were all before his arrest, before Agent Christopher had stepped in and broken the tentative trust they’d built)

_I always wished that I could have that capacity for forgiveness._

_Well_ , she thinks. _Maybe someday_.

* * *

_My dearest Cassandra,_

_I had the most interesting conversation with Mr. Logan today. We were all in the parlor and although there were any number of individuals around that he could have engaged himself with, he stayed by himself. What’s more, he seemed rather fixated on Miss Cahill. I know that it may have been impertinent to pry, but Cassandra, I simply could not help myself..._

Wyatt leans against the mantle, his eyes fixed on the windowsill across the room where Lucy and Flynn sit almost too close—certainly too close for his comfort. He can’t see Flynn’s face, but Lucy...Lucy’s smiling at whatever he’s just said, sparkling, the light filtering through the pane setting her hair aglow. She looks happy. And it’s Flynn making her that way.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve, Mr. Logan.” 

Wyatt jumps, swearing internally when he turns to see Jane at his side. He hadn’t even noticed her approach.

_You’re slipping, Logan_ , he thinks. 

“Sorry, what?”

Jane meets his eyes, then follows his former gaze to Lucy and Flynn. “Why haven’t you told her?” she asks.

Against his will, Wyatt flushes. 

“I—I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Jane fixes him with a look that makes him want to tug at his collar like a young child. Yeah, okay. So maybe he hasn’t been the most subtle.

He glances between Jane and where Lucy is sitting with Flynn again and sighs. 

“I don’t know,” he says, then holds up a hand before she can call him out again. “Or, okay...I used to think she felt the same, so I had time to work through some other things. I thought that I could wait until I was absolutely sure I was ready and she would still be there. Obviously that was a mistake.”

Jane looks over to Lucy and Flynn as well, her expression shifting from judgmental to thoughtful. 

“Is there no hope then?” She asks. “You’ve given up?”

“I haven’t _given up_ , I just—” Wyatt blows out a breath and struggles to keep himself from messing with his hair. There’s really no good way to explain that part of him is hoping Lucy will decide on her own that Flynn isn’t worth it. “I don’t want to ruin what we have,” he finishes. “If she doesn’t—if it’s all we can have, I don’t want it to be awkward or weird or uncomfortable because I couldn’t keep my feelings to myself.”

“Friendship is important,” Jane acknowledges. “For what it’s worth, if anything, I think your course of action is most admirable. It’s clear to everyone that she cares for you and is grateful for your friendship and support. I imagine it would be quite disheartening for her to think you had an ulterior motive for offering it.” 

It’s as much a warning as it is a compliment. _You’re doing fine, but don’t you dare fuck this up_.

_Noted, Miss Austen_ , he thinks. _Definitely noted_.

“As it is,” she continues, “you must be aware that you’re hardly devoid of prospects should you wish to turn your attentions elsewhere.”

“Prospects, huh?” Wyatt says, flashing her a grin. “Prospects like yourself, Miss Austen?”

That inspires both a blush and a glare, neither of which he feels terribly guilty about. It’s not every day you get to make Jane Austen blush after all.

“Decidedly not,” Jane replies. “But should you be amenable, I would be more than happy to introduce you to any number of eligible young ladies.”

He laughs.

“I’ll let you know.”

When he looks back to Lucy and Flynn, somehow it doesn’t sting quite as much.

* * *

_My dearest Cassandra,_

_At long last I have learned the truth about Captain Flynn. Oh, sister, the tragedy of it! I am no longer surprised by his relationship with Miss Cahill, or at least I am no longer surprised it has yet to progress beyond their present point. At first Miss Cahill seemed reluctant to speak of it, but she opened up after a few moments and told me the whole tale. My heart breaks for the good Captain and for Miss Cahill as well. It is clearer than ever to me now that she has a very strong attachment to him indeed, and while I am still equally as certain he feels similarly, I am no longer quite as convinced either of them will act on their feelings, at least not in the near future..._

“Is Captain Flynn well?” Jane asks, breaking the silence of their late afternoon walk. Lucy starts and glances over.

“I—yes? As much as he ever is, I believe,” she replies.

“It’s only—” Jane bites her lip and twists a piece of her skirt between her fingers. “—well, he always looks so sad. Or if not necessarily sad, then...exhausted. As if he’s Atlas with the entire weight of the world on his shoulders.”

The younger woman cuts herself off with a small laugh. “Goodness me, I apologize. I must be feeling particularly melodramatic today. But yes, I thought if anyone would know, it would be you.”

For all that Jane may have backed off from her description, Lucy doesn’t think it’s an inaccurate one. Atlas, yes. Or Odysseus—forever lost at sea, trying to get home to his family. Except Odysseus succeeded in the end, whereas Flynn...even if they destroy Rittenhouse, there’s no guarantee that he’ll be able to bring them back, and she thinks he knows that. 

(And in a way, the weight of the world—or at least history, the world as they know it—is on all four of them. Not just Flynn)

“I’m not sure it’s my place to discuss it,” Lucy says carefully.

“Of course,” Jane agrees. “I would never wish for you to betray his confidence. Forgive me, I was merely curious.”

“No, it’s fine. Your curiosity is understandable,” Lucy acknowledges, weighing the options in her mind. After a moment, she breaks the silence again. 

“He...had a wife. And a young daughter as well,” she explains. “They died. A few years ago now.” Even though she’d thought it would be fine, somehow it feels inappropriate, intrusive, to be discussing Flynn’s tragedy without him present now that she’s started. Although she’s comforted by the fact that Jane is unlikely to go gossiping to Flynn about it.

“Was it sudden?” Jane asks.

_Murdered in the night, yes that would be fairly sudden._

Not that Lucy can say that. 

“I believe so,” she replies instead. “A terrible business. Fever, I think it was.”

“How tragic,” Jane remarks. “It’s no wonder he looks sad so often. Although—”

Lucy glances over when the other woman cuts off abruptly to see her biting her lip again.

“Although?” Lucy prompts.

“Well...it’s only that he doesn’t look sad when he’s looking at you.”

That’s...that can’t be true. Not with the implication that Jane seems to have attached to it at any rate. 

Lucy isn’t sure what her face does, but whatever it is, Jane’s own expression turns apologetic. 

“Forgive me—again—” The young woman stammers. “I’ve simply noticed that the two of you seem rather close. You have quite the connection. Not that I wish to imply anything untoward—I’m sure you’ve been a pinnacle of propriety—but, well, you must know that he loves you. It’s plain as day.” 

“Is it?” Lucy’s suddenly feeling somewhat faint. “No—Jane, trust me, that’s not possible.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Jane argues. “The two of you could certainly marry—”

“There’s nothing wrong with being unmarried!” Lucy exclaims. Of all the things she may like about this time, that is one thing that’s grated on her since the beginning. “I have no desire to marry, Jane. And if I did—which, I’ll say again, I don’t—you’re wrong about Captain Flynn. No one wants to marry me, least of all him.”

“But if he loves you…” Jane trails off, looking somewhat crushed.

“Love is complicated, Jane,” Lucy sighs. “Just because you love someone, even if they love you back, it doesn’t mean that you can be with that person. Love on its own can’t make you happy. It’s not a miracle cure-all. Flynn has real problems. _I_ have real problems. Things are just...it’s not nearly as simple as you think.”

She doesn’t let herself consider whether or not Jane’s right about Flynn, or whether Jane’s right about her either. It’s better that way.

She cares about Flynn, certainly. But love?

No, better not to think of it. 

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Jane mumbles, not meeting Lucy’s eyes. Lucy gentles her tone and reaches out to catch the younger woman’s arm. 

“It’s all right,” she says. “You don’t need to be sorry. I know you’re just curious.”

They don’t talk about Flynn for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

_My dearest Cassandra,_

_Mother says I must marry for money, but I say I shall marry for my own happiness or not at all. Lucy is unmarried and seems perfectly content with her status; she claims it is because there is no one who wishes to marry her, but Cassandra, I say that is the clearest of falsehoods. While I understand her feelings on the subject, I declare that if the two of them can overcome their misgivings, one need only spend a moment with her and Captain Flynn (or Mr. Logan, although that’s somewhat more complex) to know that should she give the slightest indication that she would be amenable to an offer, she would surely have her choice of husbands from the two of them._

* * *

It’s almost the end of the two months they’ve allotted themselves, and all of them are fully prepared for things to fall to pieces. Which is why, when they inevitably do, Lucy is surprised to realize that it’s not at all in the way she expects.

(And also...that everything falling to pieces involves her own life more than she would like)

It’s night, or dusk rather, soft evening light casting dark purple shadows as the sun vanishes over the horizon. Wyatt and Rufus have gone home following dinner at the Austen’s, Jane has disappeared somewhere, and Lucy, well...as seems often to be the case these days, she finds herself walking with Flynn.

“When we get back,” he starts, breaking the silence, “I think I should go.”

Lucy stops in her tracks and stares. “What?” He can’t possibly mean what she thinks he does. 

Flynn wets his lips and his gaze falls somewhere over her shoulder, anywhere but actually on her.

“The three of you work well together,” he replies. “You, Wyatt, Rufus...you don’t need me. If anything, these past two months prove that.”

“But—” _No_ , she wants to say, wants to tell him all the reasons why he shouldn’t, why he can’t, but she can’t find the words for that. The thought of him leaving gives her a visceral reaction, one that she can’t explain—or rather, she can, but she doesn’t want to think about it too carefully. “What about Rittenhouse?”

“I’ll find another way to take down Rittenhouse. Don’t worry about that.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Lucy says. “If we’re working towards the same goal, it makes far more sense to stick together. You shouldn’t go.”

“Lucy…”

“Is this because of the arrest? Because for fuck’s sake, Garcia—”

“It’s not because of that,” he sighs. “It’ll just be better this way. You don’t need me.”

She wants to scream, to shake him, for saying that a second time. _Yes, I do_ , she wants to say. _Of course I need you. I l—_

_Oh. Oh, Jane was right._

But as it turns out, she doesn’t get a chance to say anything.

“Mr. Lefroy?” Flynn calls. “Is that you?”

In the shadows by the trees, two figures spring apart. 

“Er—yes, Captain.”

Through the low light, Lucy meets Jane’s eyes. The younger woman blushes, then bolts.

“Jane!” Tom calls after her, looking for a moment as though he might follow, but then faltering as he looks at the two of them.

“Go home, Mr. Lefroy,” Flynn commands. The younger man seems as though he may want to argue, but then sighs and nods before turning on his heel and heading off the opposite direction.

“We should go after her,” Lucy says, looking off in the direction of the Austen’s house. 

“Slowly,” Flynn suggests. “Give her some time.”

They turn and start back towards the house in silence. Their conversation before the interruption is still at the forefront of Lucy’s mind, but it’s mixed now with thoughts of Jane and Tom. The look on Jane’s face before she had dashed off…

“I hate this,” she says quietly.

Flynn looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “Hate what?”

_You, leaving._

“The fact that we’re here, doing this,” Lucy replies, waving her hands in the general direction of the house and the trees. “Breaking them up. Or, well, sort of anyway.”

“We knew what we needed to do before we came,” he reminds her. “This was always the plan.”

“I know that,” she snaps, pinching the bridge of her nose when Flynn stops and blinks at her tone.

“I know,” she repeats, more gently than before. “I just didn’t think it would be so hard.”

“It’s history.”

“Of course it’s history, but it’s more than that too.”

She’s not sure why this is affecting her so much now. Flynn’s absolutely right, they’ve known what they needed to do from the beginning and she was fine with it. But now…

Lucy walks ahead when they reach the house, foregoing looking for Jane in favor of slipping into the small library and continuing their conversation. She leans against the small desk in the corner and looks at Flynn.

"He clearly cares about her. And if she loves him—"

"She doesn't," Flynn interrupts. The casual dismissal stings enough that Lucy has to look away. 

_We're talking about Jane and Tom_ , she reminds herself. _Of course_. 

(Who else would they be talking about?)

"Fine," Lucy concedes, not wanting to waste her energy on the semantics of love versus other feelings. "Maybe it's not love. But she certainly feels something and that's not just going to disappear just because he can't—just because he leaves."

"She'll get over it," Flynn replies, his own gaze fixed on a nick in the corner of the desk. "She'll move on. Find someone better."

Lucy's shaking her head before he even finishes speaking. 

"No, she won't," she insists. This, at least, she's sure of. 

"She should."

"There are a lot of things that people should do. That doesn't mean they do them. Especially when it comes to...love."

Flynn doesn't argue with her use of the word this time, although it hangs between them in the air like a physical thing. 

"She could be happy," he says quietly. "With someone else. Someone more...suitable."

"Maybe," Lucy acknowledges. "But what if she doesn't want anyone else? Is she just supposed to spend her life alone?"

Flynn reaches out—for a split second, she thinks he might touch her—but his hand only comes to rest on the desk. Still, with his height it puts them in closer proximity than would be entirely proper should anyone walk in. 

(She _wants_. Wants him to touch her, wants the press of his body against hers, not just the ghost of it with an inch of space left between them)

"Lucy..." His voice is rough, his face twisted with guilt and indecision, but there's something else there too, something that makes her think she hasn't been reading him wrong after all. 

"Would it be so bad?" Lucy asks, gripping the edge of the desk behind her so she's slightly less inclined to curl her fingers in his shirt instead. 

Her eyes track the movement of his throat as he swallows—she wants to set her teeth to his skin. 

"Would what be?"

"If—" Lucy wets her lips and Flynn's gaze falls to her mouth. _Yes_ , she thinks. _Please_. 

"If they let themselves be together," she finishes. 

"It could be a disaster," he warns. 

"Or it could be exactly what both of them have been looking for," Lucy replies. "Garcia—"

She couldn't say which one of them moves first, but in the next moment his mouth is on hers. It’s far gentler than she’d expect from him—he kisses her as though he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he presses too hard, one of his hands settling on her waist with the barest amount of pressure, so light she can barely feel it. 

Well...she can fix that.

Lucy releases the desk in favor of giving in to her initial desire, curling her fingers into his shirt and pulling him firmly against her as she drags her teeth over his lip.

“Lucy—”

“Don’t say anything,” she breathes. “Don’t—just kiss me, Garcia.”

A flicker of indecision passes over his face, but then it’s like a switch is flipped. His hands fall to her hips and lift her up to sit on the edge of the desk, one of his thighs slotting between her legs. She licks into his mouth and he groans, one of his hands tightening on her hip while the other slides up, splaying his fingers over her ribcage. Any higher and he’d be palming her breast through the ridiculous corset she is more than ready to be done wearing, and the heat flooding through her makes there little she’d like more than for him to do just that. 

Just as she’s about to cover his hand with her own and guide it up, there’s a gasp from the direction of the door. Lucy pushes Flynn away abruptly, her eyes flashing to the doorway just in time to catch Jane’s eyes through a crack in the barely opened door.

“Jane—”

A squeak, and then Jane vanishes.

“I—” Lucy looks between the door and Flynn with indecision.

“Go,” he says. 

“But—”

“Go,” he insists. “Meet me later. By the stables.”

Lucy glances towards the door once more and then hooks her fingers in Flynn’s collar to tug him down for the briefest kiss. “You’d better mean that,” she says before turning and rushing out. 

Blessedly, she catches a flash of skirts going around the corner at the end of the hall and races after Jane. She sees her again once she rounds the same corner, but the other woman is about to disappear around yet another one.

“Jane, wait!” Lucy calls after the other woman. Miraculously, Jane listens, and is watching for her as soon as she rounds the bend.

"I'm sorry," Jane blurts out, flushing red. "I didn't mean—or, well, I was eavesdropping and I shouldn't have been, that I meant, but I didn't—"

"Jane—"

"I won't tell," she assures Lucy, and then Lucy's the one blushing. "I won't tell a soul, although after such an advance I certainly would expect Captain Flynn to make you an offer—"

Lucy almost chokes on her tongue. 

"Jane—"

"But if I were to say anything to anyone it would only be to him because honestly, I don't see what other encouragement he could possibly need—"

"Jane!" Jane's mouth snaps shut and she bites her lip, looking for all the world like a teenager who has just been caught with a dirty magazine. 

(Which, Lucy acknowledges, watching Flynn kiss her very well might be the equivalent of in 1796)

Her face burns.

“We—I—Jane, we need to talk.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Jane says again. Lucy shakes her head.

“Not...about me. Or Flynn.”

It’s Jane’s turn to drop her gaze. “About...me and Tom?”

“Yes.”

Jane nods and links her arm through Lucy’s. “We’ll go to my room. No one should bother us there. Not at this hour.”

Lucy waits until they reach Jane’s room, until they’re settled on her bed with the door firmly closed, and then...then she tells her everything.

(It’s time. As close as the two of them have gotten, keeping the truth to herself has only made her feel worse and worse as the time has gone on. And Jane...Jane isn’t going to be swayed by any sort of “Because I said so” directive about why she shouldn’t run off with Tom Lefroy. She deserves the truth)

Lucy talks for what feels like hours, until her throat is dry and her voice failing. And despite the fact that Jane is normally one for questions, she doesn’t interrupt. Not once. 

When Lucy finally stops, Jane isn’t looking at her, but out the window.

“Jane?”

"I'm not a fool," Jane says quietly, still looking out the window. "Although goodness knows you may think I've been acting it. I've certainly been careless with myself, my reputation...but I know I cannot marry him. Even should he come up with a way through these people you mentioned, I still could not."

"I'm sorry," Lucy offers, unable to think of anything else to say. To her surprise, Jane smiles. There's a touch of sadness to it, but it's a smile nonetheless. 

"Don't be," Jane replies, turning her eyes back to Lucy.. "When I think about it honestly I think...well, I don't imagine I could be truly happy being married to anyone. Not even Tom."

"Don't you love him?" 

"I do," Jane admits. "And I will always be grateful to him for that, for the experience of being in love. But in five years, ten years, when marriage has stolen my pen, my passion, will I still? And as you said weeks ago, reality is so much more complicated than love and a happily ever after, isn’t it?"

Lucy doesn't have an answer, but Jane seems to read one on her face anyway. 

(It strikes her that the future authoress is only twenty, still so very young and yet halfway through her life already. Perhaps the wisdom beyond her years is part of that. The universe's way of saying yes, you may not have long, but you will be brilliant)

"I envy you," she says and Lucy blinks. 

"What?"

"A historian? A professor? Traveling through time with a man who loves you? It's all desperately exciting."

"Flynn doesn't—" Lucy cuts herself off when Jane's eyes sparkle with amusement and switches tracks. "It's really not very exciting. It's actually pretty terrifying a lot of the time."

"You're changing the world though," Jane points out. "Isn't it worth the fear?"

"You'll change the world, too," Lucy replies. "So why don't you tell me?"

“I’m still not sure how much I believe you about that,” Jane says. “But, if it’s true...yes. Yes, it would be worth it.”

Lucy considers that, considers how much her life has changed over the past year, whether it would have been better had she never known about Rittenhouse, never met Wyatt or Rufus or Flynn. 

It would have been easier, maybe, if she hadn't. If she were just a professor and her biggest problem was whether she would get tenure and not whether one wrong move on her part could rewrite all of history...yes, that would be easier. 

But. Would she change it?

(It was lonelier too, just her and Amy, mandatory work events her only real social life)

(She thinks about Flynn's body pressed against hers an hour ago, his hands, his mouth on hers, kissing her more thoroughly than she's been kissed in far too long)

No, she wouldn't.

* * *

_Meet me at the stables_ , Flynn had said. And sure enough, he’s there when she gets back, even though she’s been with Jane for hours. 

Except now that she’s there, Lucy feels far more unsure than she’d been in the library. Had kissing him been a mistake? Does he regret it?

Lucy stares at Flynn where he’s leaning against the stable door, suddenly unable to come up with anything to say. As strong as she'd been before, as fixed in her convictions, well...it was easier when they were at least pretending they weren't speaking of themselves. 

In an unbidden thought that nearly elicits a burst of wild laughter, Lucy longs for a pad of paper and a pen. 

_Do you **like** like me? Check yes or no._

Grade school tactics seem so much easier than actually talking.

She glances away, wets her lips slowly, and then looks back to Flynn.

He doesn’t look at her.

Lucy knows what she should say—something about how things are too complicated already, about how they don't need to throw a wrench into team dynamics when they've only just started to work well together. 

And then there's what she wants to say—about how she looks at him sometimes and isn't sure she believes he's forgiven her for everything that happened after they returned from 1954, about how she cares about him more than she should even so, even knowing that if he hasn't forgiven her, feeling the way she feels won't ever do anything but hurt. 

She doesn't say any of that.

"You kissed me." It's a simple statement of fact, but Flynn flinches as though she's thrown something.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” he replies, still not looking up. “It was a mistake.”

Oh. So that’s how it is then. 

Anger flares sharper than the dull ache that settles in her chest at that. It’s not entirely unexpected, but she’d been hoping that he wouldn’t avoid it in quite this way. 

“Why?” Lucy demands. “Because it’s me? Because you wanted to?”

Flynn’s jaw ticks, but otherwise he remains silent. That tells her everything she needs to know.

Lucy softens her tone, taking a step towards him and ignoring the way his gaze flicks over her warily. He’s nearly vibrating with tension, keeping himself still the way a trapped animal might, watching her without ever meeting her eyes.

"You're allowed to move on, Garcia," Lucy says carefully. "You don't have to spend the rest of your life in mourning."

When she reaches out, Flynn recoils, his face twisting in some unspoken agony. 

"And what would you know about it?" He shoots back. "Please enlighten me, Lucy. Since you're such an expert on how I feel."

There’s an exasperated scream caught between her back teeth. She almost wants to shove him so he’ll understand.

"You're not the only person in the world who's ever lost someone," Lucy replies. "Do you really think I don't understand? Do you think I don't know what it's like to feel guilty every time I let myself be happy because I still haven't brought Amy back? Because I do."

Flynn has the decency to at least look somewhat chagrined at the reminder before he sticks to his position. 

"It's not the same."

"Isn't it?" Another step and this time he doesn’t shift away from her.

“Family is family,” Lucy reminds him. “Maybe the particulars are different—I know I wouldn’t claim to feel exactly the same way about losing my sister as you do about you family—but isn’t it close enough? It’s not nothing.”

“Lucy…”

"I care about you," she interrupts before he can say anything to ruin things even more. "I—I want you. I have for a while now. And I know you want me too. I know you care. Garcia—"

Lucy leans up on her toes and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. 

_Please_ , she thinks. _You don't have to say the words, but please. Please._

But of course, Flynn pulls away. 

“I can’t.”

“Garcia—”

“I _can’t_ ,” he repeats firmly, taking another step away. 

“You’re just going to leave then?” Lucy asks, crossing her arms so she won’t be tempted to do anything like reach for him. “As soon as we get back?”

“Yes,” he replies.

Her eyes burn and she blinks fiercely, refusing to let him see her cry. “You’re a coward,” she throws at his back when he turns toward the door. 

Flynn freezes and his jaw clenches, but just when she thinks he’s going to turn and argue with her some more, he doesn’t.

“Maybe I am,” he agrees. And then he walks out of the stables.

(He’d agreed with her. One would think she could get at least some vindication out of that. But no)

(It doesn’t feel like a victory at all)

* * *

_You’re a coward._

_Maybe I am._

Lucy’s words have stuck with Flynn since he left the stables. 

_Coward. Coward. Coward._

The last thing he wants to do is go to another ball, not when the night before is so fresh in his mind, not when the last ball they went to he spent much of it dancing with Lucy. And yet, that's where he is anyway. 

“Lucy looks lovely tonight, don’t you think, Captain?”

Flynn starts when Jane appears by his side, pulling him abruptly out of his reverie.

Lucy looks exhausted, actually. Enough that he feels a pang of regret and shame for his likely role in causing it.

(Not, of course, that the two things are mutually exclusive—Lucy does look lovely, not that he would be inclined to try paying her the compliment given how they left things)

“Yes,” he replies finally, when it’s clear Jane is expecting a response. “Yes, she does.”

“Are you going to ask her to dance?” Jane prods.

_You’re a coward._

“I think she might spit in my face if I tried, Miss Austen.”

(If they weren’t in 1796, she would probably just tell him to fuck off. He would deserve both. Or either)

“Something you said?”

Flynn grimaces. “And what I didn’t,” he acknowledges. 

Jane looks thoughtful for a moment, glancing across the room to Lucy and then back to Flynn. 

“You know,” she says, “Lucy told me the most fantastic story last night. About time travel of all things.”

Flynn almost laughs, thinking back to 1780 and her exasperation with him for revealing their identities to Benedict Arnold so casually. How the tables have turned in just a few months.

“Did she? I’m sure it was fascinating.”

“Oh, it was,” Jane agrees. “It had tragedy, adventure, romance...all the best elements of a great story really.”

“Romance?” Flynn asks, looking over to Lucy again. 

“A man who has lost everything steals a time machine on the word of a strange woman from the future who gives him a journal,” she explains. “But when he meets her younger self, she doesn’t know him and has been tasked with stopping him. There’s a lot of antagonism at first, several misunderstandings, but along the way they grow to understand each other. It’s like fate.”

_What if he led you to me?_

Fate...that’s one way of putting it.

“Did she tell you how it ended?” He says quietly, his chest twisting at the memory.

_I’m sorry!_

_I trusted you—_

“The arrest?” Jane clarifies. “Would you call that an ending? I would say it’s only the middle—another stumbling block, a conflict to be worked through. After all, they’re working as a team now. Clearly the story is still ongoing.” 

Across the room, Lucy laughs at something Wyatt says—Flynn’s eyes are drawn to the curve of her neck, the sparkle of pins in her hair when she turns enough to catch the light. _It’s how it should be_ , he reminds himself. Wyatt is who she should be with. He would make her happy, wouldn’t come with quite as much extra baggage.

(Wyatt wouldn’t freeze if she told him she wanted him)

“It’s not the same,” he replies. “They may be working together, but they aren’t a team. There’s too much distance, not enough trust.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” Jane argues. “It may not be the same, but that’s not a bad thing. Partnerships grow and change—consider how theirs has already. As for distance, well...I think that could be done away with rather swiftly.”

“Oh, do you?” The skepticism weighs heavy on Flynn’s tongue. 

“She doesn’t think you’ve forgiven her,” she says firmly, dropping the metaphor and meeting his gaze directly. “She thinks you blame her still and she certainly blames herself, so the distance is partly because she’s unsure about the state of your relationship and partly because you feel guilty about blaming her in the first place when it was never her fault. So tell her you forgive her, tell her how you feel, and then maybe the two of you can move on.”

Jane blinks at the end of her speech as if startled by the force of her own words. Flynn himself needs a moment to form a response, words flying out of his head before he can grasp them. 

“I—” He coughs and clears his throat, then begins again. “Did she tell you that?”

“I read between the lines.” 

The look Jane levels at him then makes him feel far more like an unruly child than it really ought to coming from someone over a decade his junior, but this is the creator of Elizabeth Bennet he’s speaking to. 

“You know, Captain,” she remarks. “I may be young, but I’m not so unworldly that I know nothing of men. It’s true, I suppose, that you could have kissed her the way I saw yesterday without also feeling something, but you forget that I’ve also seen the way you’ve looked at her for these past two months. And if you expect me or anyone else to believe that you’re not at least half in love with her, you’ll have to do much better than that.” 

“It’s complicated,” Flynn defends.

“Love often is,” she counters.

His eyes drift over to Lucy and Wyatt once more and his stomach drops at the smile on her lips. 

_She could be happy with someone else._

_But what if she doesn’t want anyone else?_

“She could do better,” he says.

“Yes, she certainly could,” Jane agrees, raising a brow when Flynn looks at her in surprise. “Were you expecting me to coddle your ego, Captain? I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere for that.”

“If that’s how you feel, then why—” _Why push me towards her? Why not the opposite?_

“Because, Captain,” she says archly. “Despite what I, or Mr. Logan, or Mr. Carlin, or even you yourself may think, the only person entitled to make decisions about Lucy’s happiness on a theory of what she does or does not deserve...is Lucy. And it’s exceedingly plain, at least for those of us who are invested in the matter, that she at least has made up her mind as to her choice. Her choice being you.”

“So you think I should tell her?” Flynn sighs.

“Since it’s my understanding that the ability to travel through time did not come along with the ability to read the unspoken thoughts of another person, I would recommend it, yes,” Jane replies. 

“She’s really upset with me,” he confesses. “And she should be.”

“Given what I observed last night, I would imagine that a confession of this sort may go some way toward correcting that.”

Flynn bites back a smile at Jane’s imperious tone, feeling very solidly told off but somehow not terribly bothered by it. 

“Will you excuse me, Miss Austen? I believe I have somewhere to be.”

Jane smiles and dips into a small curtsey. “Best of luck, Captain Flynn.”

It takes Flynn far less time to cross the room than he might like, given that he still doesn’t know what he should say. Lucy and Wyatt both look up when he stops next to them—she looks even more exhausted now that he’s closer, although as noted, still lovely. 

“Wyatt,” he nods. “Miss Cahill.”

“Captain Flynn,” Lucy acknowledges.

“May I speak to you in private?” He asks.

Her mouth twists, the hurt he’d seen the night before flickering in her eyes.

“I think you said everything I would be remotely interested in hearing last night,” she replies.

_I deserved that_ , he reminds himself.

Flynn drops his voice and leans in, almost too close to be proper, his eyes meeting hers. “Lucy. Please.”

_I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you._

It takes her a moment, but finally she nods. “Fine.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and extends his arm for her to take. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“I might still change my mind,” Lucy warns. 

_Fair enough._

He leads her to a balcony far enough away from the ballroom that they can hardly hear the music anymore. But, that also makes it unlikely they’ll be bothered, which is what he’s going for. 

Except, of course, as soon as it’s time for him to say something, all possible words desert him.

“Well?” Lucy says, letting go of his arm and crossing hers. 

“I—”

_Coward._

She sighs. “Flynn, if all you wanted to do was drag me out here to say—”

"I never wanted to get married," he interrupts.

Her mouth snaps shut. "What?"

"I—when I was younger I used to think I didn't want to get married, didn't want to fall in love, none of it," Flynn explains. He isn't looking at Lucy but he feels her eyes on him nonetheless. When she doesn't interrupt, he keeps talking, words nearly tripping over themselves as if afraid he won't be able to say them all if they don't get out fast enough. 

"My mother would read me these stories and they would end with weddings and you were supposed to believe the characters would be happy, and I wanted to, I did, but...I would look at my mother and think about my father, think about the son she lost before me, and I thought—I thought why? Why do people fall in love? Why hand someone your heart and give them the power to destroy you?"

"You did fall in love though," Lucy says, soft, but with a slowly dawning comprehension, a compassion that's more than he deserves.

Flynn thinks of Lorena on their wedding day—red lipstick that he delighted in making her need to reapply and white roses in the lace of her veil—and Iris on her fifth birthday, her last birthday, and the pain of loss is nearly staggering.

“Yes. I did.”

Lucy steps closer and rests her hands on the balcony next to his, close enough to touch if he were brave enough to do so.

“You’re afraid.”

“Yes.” It’s barely a breath, barely a word, but it scrapes at his throat like broken glass. There’s so much more he could say to explain, but he can’t make the words come.

_Losing you might be the end of me._

“I meant what I said, back in 1780,” he says instead. “I can’t go back after everything...I can’t be a husband or a father. Not for Lorena, not for—” _You_. “—anyone.”

“You’re not the only one who’s done terrible things, Garcia,” Lucy points out, allowing her fingers to just barely brush his. “None of us are the same people we were before we started this. I know I’m not.” 

_I don’t think you’re a monster._

“You’re still a good person, Lucy,” Flynn replies.

She’s quiet for a moment, and then—

“I killed Jesse James.”

The words hang in the air between them, echoing in his ears, but the thought...he can’t see it, can’t call to mind any sort of image. And yet, next to him, Lucy is still, her face set, and he knows it’s not a lie.

“What?”

“Bass Reeves wanted to arrest him,” Lucy explains, no more immediacy in her tone than if she were reciting a grocery list. “James had surrendered, Wyatt had already shot him in the arm and was arguing with Reeves about the right thing to do...and while they were fighting, I took a gun and I shot him. In cold blood. And I would do it again.”

She turns her head and her eyes meet his.

“Like I said. You’re not the only one who’s done terrible things,” she says. “Does that mean we don’t get to be happy? Any of us?”

Flynn’s at a loss for words. Part of him wants to argue that one man isn’t the same as dozens, that she wouldn’t even have been in the position to make that choice if he hadn’t saved James to begin with...but he can’t. The words turn to dust in his mouth, every argument feeling disingenuous, dismissive even, under the steadiness of her gaze.

(If it were him, he wouldn’t want anyone else to make excuses, even if they were well-intentioned. She deserves the dignity of her own choice and he’s unwilling to take that away)

“Garcia?”

He’s been quiet for too long, but he still doesn’t know what to say. So he doesn’t say anything. Instead he shifts closer and covers her hand with his own where it rests on the balcony. 

“Your hands are cold,” he remarks. A hint of a smile graces Lucy’s lips as she carefully turns her hand over and laces her fingers through his. 

“We’re outside in England in January,” she replies. “I’m not exactly surprised.”

The silence that falls then feels less weighted than before, but the air still isn’t entirely clear either. Flynn wets his lips, his eyes dropping to their linked hands.

_Would it be so bad?_

He’s been falling for her since before he’d even met this version of her, when she was only words, pages in a journal, a ghost out of time and space. He may not deserve her, may never deserve her, but—

_The only person entitled to make decisions about Lucy’s happiness...is Lucy._

“I’m sorry.”

To his surprise, Lucy laughs. “For what exactly?”

“For—” There are quite a lot of things, but maybe sticking with the most applicable to the current situation is best. “—what I said last night. And for what I didn’t.”

“What you said last night...how kissing me was a mistake or how I couldn’t possibly understand how you feel?” 

Flynn almost winces. “I’m not very good at this.”

“I’d noticed,” she acknowledges. 

“I can’t promise that I’ll get any better at it,” he warns.

“Well, at least I’ll know what to expect.”

“Lucy—”

“Garcia.” Lucy sighs and squeezes his hand before looking up at him. “Just tell me honestly. Do you want this?”

There are many responses that come to mind— _I shouldn’t, I can’t, you deserve better, I don’t want to lose you, I’m afraid_ —but those aren’t answers, not really. 

Flynn lifts their joined hands to his lips, presses a kiss to her knuckles.

“Yes.” 

Lucy smiles.

* * *

_My dearest Cassandra,_

_...The day will come on which I flirt my last with Tom Lefroy and when you receive this it will be all over. My tears flow as I write at this melancholy idea..._

* * *

Leaving 1796 is more difficult than Lucy expects. After two months without modern amenities, she should be dying to get home, but, well…

“I’ll miss you,” Jane says, the words muffled against Lucy’s shoulder as the younger woman embraces her. “I hardly know what I’ll do without you.”

Behind them, in the barn, the Lifeboat is powering up, Rufus and Wyatt already inside. 

Lucy’s eyes burn with unshed tears as Jane suddenly reminds her so much of Amy that she can’t breathe. She misses her sister, has missed getting to _be_ a sister, and for two months, Jane Austen of all people let her be one again.

(It may not have been the same, but it was still a welcome change from spending all her time with a trio of men)

“I’ll miss you, too,” Lucy replies, pulling back from the hug after another moment. “But you’ll be fine without me. You can trust me on that.”

“I suppose you would know,” Jane acknowledges.She squeezes Lucy’s hand and then glances between her and where Flynn is waiting a few feet away.

“Captain Flynn,” she calls. 

“Miss Austen.”

Glancing back at Lucy, Jane crosses to Flynn, dropping her voice so that whatever she says Lucy can’t hear. Whatever it is, Flynn nods, then looks somewhat stunned when the younger woman kisses his cheek.

“Be well, Captain,” she says.

Lucy hugs Jane one more time when she returns, blinking hard to hold back a fresh wave of sadness. 

“Don’t cry,” Jane says, a small, sad smile on her lips. “You’ll set me off and then you’ll never get out of here.”

Lucy laughs instead and swipes at her eyes. 

“Be well, Jane.”

“And you, Lucy.” 

Lucy slips away and joins Flynn before she can say anything else or spill anymore tears. 

“Are you okay?” He asks quietly. Lucy laces her fingers through his and gives his hand a quick squeeze.

“I’ll just miss her, is all,” she replies. “But I’m fine. What did she say to you?”

To her surprise, Flynn chuckles. 

“It’s a secret.”

Lucy raises an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

She bites back a smile and rolls her eyes just as they reach the Lifeboat. Flynn helps her in, climbs in after her, and then they’re off. It’s done. 

The landing is rough, but when they step out of the time machine, they’re back in the warehouse, in 2017, fresh forest air and quiet a thing, quite literally, of the past for them now.

“Well,” Rufus says when they’re all standing on firm ground, “Did it work?”

“Only one way to find out,” Wyatt replies, grabbing his phone from where he left it and looking up Jane Austen.

“Looks like it,” he says. “Jane Austen, novelist, born 1775, died 1817. Novels: Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Northanger Abbey, Mansfield Park, Persuasion, Woe and Wisdom—”

“Woe and Wisdom?” Lucy interrupts. “What’s Woe and Wisdom?”

“Woe and Wisdom, published posthumously along with Persuasion in 1818,” Flynn reads after plucking the phone from Wyatt’s hand. “Her most popular novel after Pride and Prejudice, it tells the tale of...Lucy and Amy Preston, Captain Garcia Flynn, Mr. Wyatt Logan, and Mr. Rufus Carlin.”

Lucy blinks. “She wrote a book...about us?”

“Apparently,” he replies.

“There’s an author’s note with the original manuscript, apparently,” Rufus interjects, looking up from his own phone. “It’s, well it’s…” He hands over the phone, a photo of an inscription open in the browser on the screen.

_To my dearest friends,_

_Forgive me; I never could keep myself from writing down a good story._

_Please know that I have missed you all every day since you left. I have never forgotten._

_And to you, my darling Lucy, the answer is, yes. It was worth it._

_—Jane Austen_

Lucy blinks back tears and leans into the hand Flynn places on her shoulder.

“Well...book or movie first?” Rufus asks. “Or television series. There are apparently several. We should rank them.”

Through the tears, Lucy laughs.

_I’ll never forget either, Jane_ , she thinks. _Never_.


End file.
